HIL-O-RUM^ 

fANOE         and 


— — 


^HllADELElNE 

ERCHERE5 

By 
WILLIAM    HENRY    DRUMMOND 


t 


/ 


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"()   ma  ole  canoe,  wat   s  matter  wit'  you,  an' 
w  v  was  you  be  so  slow  ? 


n 


Phil-orum  s 
Canoe 

and 

Madeleine 
Vercheres 

Two  Poems  by 

William 
Henry 

Drummond 

Author  of  "  The 
Habitant,"  etc. 


Illustrated  by 

Frederick 

Simpson 

Coburn 


G.  P.   PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Zbc  IknlcUcrbocfter  press 

i  -  98 


Copyright,  1898 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 
Entered  at  Stationers'   Hall,  London 


"Cbe  lfcnicfcerbocher  press,  ■Rew  L'orfc 


'RLF 
URL    j 


PHIL-O-RUM'S  CANOE. 

OMA  ole  canoe,  wat  's  matter  wit'  you, 
an'  w'y  was  you  be  so  slow  ? 
Don't  I  work  hard  enough  on  de  paddle,  an' 

still  you  don't  seem  to  go — 
No  win'  at  all  on  de  fronte  side,  an'  current 

she  don't  be  strong, 
Den  w'y  are  you  lak'  lazy  feller,  too  sleepy  for 
move  along  ? 

"  I  'member  de  tarn,  w'en  you  jomp  de  sam' 

as  deer  wit'  de  wolf  behin', 
An'  brochet  on   de  top  de  water,   you  scare 

heem  mos'  off  hees  min' : 
But  fish  don't  care  for  you  now  at  all,  only  jus' 

mebbe  wink  de  eye, 
For  he  know  it  's  easy  git  out  de  way,  w'en 

you  was  a-passin'  by  " 

I  'm  spikin'  dis  way,  jus'  de  oder  day,  w'en  I  'm 

out  wit'  de  ole  canoe 
Crossin'  de  point  w'ere  I  see,  las'  fall,  wan  very 

beeg  caribou, 

i 


2  Phil-o-rum's  Canoe 

Wen  somebody  say,  "  Phil-o-rum,  mon  vieux, 
wat  *s  matter  wit'  you  youse'f  ? ' 

An'  who  do  you  s'pose  was  talkin'  ?  W'y  de 
poor  ole  canoe  shese'f. 

O  yass,  I  'm  scare  w'en  I  'm  sittin'  dere,  an' 

she  's  callin'  ma  nam'  dat  way. 
"  Phil-o-rum  Juneau,  w'y  you  spik  so  moche, 

you  're  off  on  de  head  to-day : 
Can't   be  you  forget,  ole  feller,   you   an'    me 

we're  not  too  young, 
An'  if  I  'm  lookin'  so  ole  lak'  you,  I  t'ink  I 

will  close  ma  tongue. 

"  You    should    feel  ashame,  for  you  're  alway 

blame,  w'en  it  is  n't  ma  fault  at  all, 
For  I  'm  tryin'  to  do  bes'  I  can  for  you  on 

summer-tarn,  spring,  an'  fall. 
How  offen  you  drown  on  de  reever,  if  I  'm 

not  lookin'  out  for  you 
W'en  you  're  takin'  too  moche  on  de  w'isky, 

some  night  comin'  down  de  Soo. 

"  De  firse  tarn  we  go  on  de  Wessoneau,  no 

feller  can  beat  us  den 
For  you  're  purty  strong  man  wit'  de  paddle, 

but  dat  's  long  ago,  ma  frien', 


Phil-o-rum's  Canoe  3 

An'  win'  she  can  blow  off  de  mountain,   an' 

tonder  an'  rain  may  come, 
But  camp  see   us  bote   on    de    evening — you 

know  dat  was  true,  Phil-o-rum. 


"  An'  who  's  your  horse,  too,    but  your  ole 

canoe,  an'  w'en  you  feel  cole  an'  wet, 
Who  was  your  house  w'en  I  'm  upside  down, 

an'  onder  de  roof  you  get, 
Wit'  rain  ronnin'  down  ma  back,  Bapteme  !  till 

I  'm  gettin'  de  rheumateez, 
An'  I  never  say  not'ing  at  all  moi-meme,  but 

let  you  do  jus'  you  please  ? 

"  You  t'ink  it  was  right,  kip  me  out  all  night 

on  reever  side  down  below, 
An'  even  '  bon  soir  '  you  was  never  say,  but 

off  on  de  camp  you  go, 
Leffin'  your  poor  ole  canoe  behin',  lyin'  dere 

on  de  groun', 
Watchin'  de  moon  on  de  water,    an'   de   bat 

flyin'  all  aroun'  ? 

"  Oh,   dat  's  lonesome  t'ing  hear  de  grey  owl 

sing  up  on  de  beeg  pine  tree! 
An'  many  long  night  she  kip  me  awake  till  sun 

on  de  Eas'  I  see, 


4  Phil-o-rum's  Canoe 

An'  den  you  come  down  on  de  morning  for 

start  on  some  more  voyage, 
An'  only  t'ing  decen'  you  do  all  day,  is  carry 

me  on  portage. 

Dat    's   way,    Phil-o-rum,    rheumateez    she 

come,  wit'  pain  ronnin'  troo'  ma  side, 
Wan  leetle  hole  here,  'noder  beeg  wan  dere, 

dat  not'ing  can  never  hide, 
Don't  do  any  good  feex  me  up  agen,  no  matter 

how  moche  you  try, 
For  w  'en  we  come  ole  an*   our  work   she   's 

done,  bote  man  an'  canoe  mus'  die." 


Wall,  she  talk  dat  way  mebbe  mos'  de  day  till 

we  're  passin'  some  beaver  dam, 
An'  wan  de  young  beaver,  he  's  mak*  hees  tail 

come  down  on  de  water  Flam ! 
I  never  see  de  canoe  so  scare,  she  jomp  nearly 

two,  t'ree  feet, 
I  t'ink  she  was  goin'  for  ronne  away,  an'  she 

shut  up  de  mout'  toute  suite. 

It  mak'  me  feel  queer,  de  strange  t'ing  I  hear, 
an'  I  'm  glad  she  don't  spik  no  more, 

But  soon  as  we  fin'  ourse'f  arrive  over  dere  on 
de  'noder  shore 


De  mos'  worse  current  's  de  las'  wan  too,  de 
current  of  Dead  Riviere." 


Phil-o-rum's  Canoe  5 

I  tak'  dat  canoe  lak'  de  lady,  an'  carry  her  off 

wit'  me, 
For  I  'm  sorry  de  way  I  'm  treat  her,  an*  she 

know  more  dan  me,  sapree! 


Yass,  dat  's  smart  canoe,  an'  I  know  it  's  true, 

w'at  she  's  spikin'  wit'  me  dat  day, 
I  'm  not  de  young  feller  I  use  to  be,  w'en  work 

she  was  only  play, 
An'  I  know  I  was  comin'  closer  on  place  w'ere 

I  mus'  tak'  care, 
W'ere  de  mos'  worse  current  *s  de  las'  wan  too, 

de  current  of  Dead  Riviere. 


You  can  only  steer,  an'  if  rock  be  near,  wit' 

wave  dashin'  all  aroun', 
Better  mak'  leetle  prayer,  for  on  Dead  Riviere, 

some  very  smart  man  get  drown  ; 
But  if  you  be  locky  an'  watch  youse'f,  mebbe 

reever  won't  seem  so  wide, 
An'  firse  t'ing  you  know  you  '11  ronne  ashore, 

safe  on  de  'noder  side. 


MADELEINE  VERCHERES. 

I'VE  told  you  many  a  tale,  my  child,  of  the 
old  heroic  days, 
Of  Indian  wars  and  massacre,  of  villages  ablaze 
With  savage  torch,   from  Ville  Marie  to  the 

Mission  of  Trois  Rivieres; 
But  never  have  I  told  you  yet  of  Madeleine 
Vercheres. 

Summer  had  come  with  its  blossoms,  and  gaily 
the  robin  sang, 

And  deep  in  the  forest  arches,  the  axe  of  the 
woodman  rang; 

Again  in  the  waving  meadows,  the  sun-browned 
farmers  met 

And  out  on  the  green  St.  Lawrence,  the  fisher- 
man spread  his  net. 

And  so  through  the  pleasant  season,  till  the 

days  of  October  came 
When  children  wrought  with  their  parents,  and 

even  the  old  and  lame 


"  Like  tigers  they  watch  their  prey. 


Madeleine  Vercheres  7 

With    tottering    frames    and    footsteps,    their 

feeble  labors  lent 
At  the  gathering  of  the  harvest  le  bon  Dieu 

himself  had  sent. 


For  news  there  was  none  of  battle,  from  the 

forts  on  the  Richelieu 
To  the  gates  of  the  ancient  city,  where  the  flag 

of  King  Louis  flew; 
All  peaceful  the  skies  hung  over  the  seigneurie 

of  Vercheres, 
Like  the  calm  that  so  often  cometh    ere  the 

hurricane  rends  the  air. 


And  never  a  thought  of  danger  had  the  Sei- 
gneur, sailing  away 

To  join  the  soldiers  of  Carignan,  where  down 
at  Quebec  they  lay, 

But  smiled  on  his  little  daughter,  the  maiden 
Madeleine, 

And  a  necklet  of  jewels  promised  her,  when 
home  he  should  come  again. 

And  ever  the  days  passed  swiftly,  and  careless 

the  workmen  grew, 
For  the  months  they  seemed  a  hundred  since 

the  last  war-bugle  blew. 


Madeleine  Vercheres 

Ah,  little  they  dreamt  on  their    pillows    the 

farmers  of  Vercheres, 
That  the  wolves  of  the  southern  forest   had 

scented  the  harvest  fair. 


Like  ravens  they  quickly  gather,   like  tigers 

they  watch  their  prey. 
Poor  people !  with  hearts  so  happy,  they  sang 

as  they  toiled  away ! 
Till  the  murderous  eyeballs  glistened,  and  the 

tomahawk  leaped  out 
And  the   banks   of   the   green    St.    Lawrence 

echoed  the  savage  shout. 

"  O  mother  of  Christ,  have  pity!  "  shrieked  the 

women  in  despair; 
"  This  is  no  time  for  praying,"  cried  the  young 

Madeleine  Vercheres; 
'  Aux  armes!  auxarmes!  les  Iroquois!  quick 

to  your  arms  and  guns, 
Fight  for  your  God  and  country,  and  the  lives 

of  the  innocent  ones." 


And  she  sped  like  a  deer  of  the  mountain,  when 

beagles  press  close  behind, 
And  the  feet  that  would  follow  after  must  be 

swift  as  the  prairie  wind. 


Madeleine  Vercheres  9 

Alas !  for  the  men  and  women  and  little  ones 

that  day, 
For  the  road  it  was  long  and  weary,  and  the 

fort  it  was  far  away. 

But  the  fawn  had  outstripped  the  hunters,  and 
the  palisades  drew  near, 

And  soon  from  the  inner  gateway  the  war- 
bugle  rang  out  clear, 

Gallant  and  clear  it  sounded,  with  never  a  note 
of  despair — 

'T  was  a  soldier  of  France's  challenge,  from 
the  young  Madeleine  Vercheres ! 


'  And  this  is  my  little  garrison,  my  brothers 

Louis  and  Paul  ? 
With    soldiers  two,  and  a  cripple  ?   may  the 

Virgin  pray  for  us  all ! 
But  we  've  powder  and  guns  in  plenty,  and 

we  '11  fight  to  the  latest  breath, 
And  if  need  be,   for  God  and  country,  die  a 

brave  soldier's  death. 


Load  all  the  carabines  quickly,  and  when- 
ever you  sight  the  foe 
Fire  from  the  upper  turret  and  loopholes  down 
below, 


io  Madeleine  Vercheres 

Keep  up  the  fire,  brave  soldiers,  though  the 

fight  may  be  fierce  and  long, 
And  they  '11  think  our  little  garrison  is  more 

than  a  hundred  strong." 

So  spake  the  maiden  Madeleine,  and  she  roused 

the  Norman  blood 
That  seemed  for  a  moment  sleeping,  and  sent 

it  like  a  flood 
Through   every   heart  around  her,  and    they 

fought  the  red  Iroquois 
As  fought  in  the  old-time  battles  the  soldiers 
of  Carignan. 

And  they  say  the  black  clouds  gathered,  and  a 
tempest  swept  the  sky, 

And  the  roar  of  the  thunder  mingled  with  the 
forest  tiger's  cry, 

But  still  the  garrison  fought  on,  while  the  light- 
ning's jagged  spear 

Tore  a  hole  in  the  night's  dark  curtain,  and 
showed  them  a  foeman  near. 


And  the  sun  rose  up  in  the  morning,  and  the 

color  of  blood  was  he, 
Gazing  down  from  the  heavens  on  the  little 

company 


••  Saluted  the  brave  young  captain. 


Madeleine  Vercheres  n 

"  Behold,  my  friends,"  cried  the  maiden, 
"  't  is  a  warning  lest  we  forget, 

Though  the  night  saw  us  do  our  duty,  our 
work  is  not  finished  yet." 

And  six  days  followed  each  other,  and  feeble 

her  limbs  became 
Yet  the  maid  never  sought  her  pillow,  and  the 

flash  of  the  carabine's  flame 
Illumined  the  powder-smoked  faces,  aye,  even 

when  hope  seemed  gone, 
And  she  only  smiled  on  her  comrades,  and  told 

them  to  fight,  fight  on. 

And  she  blew  a  blast  on  the  bugle,  and  lo! 
from  the  forest  black. 

Merrily,  merrily  ringing,  an  answer  came  peal- 
ing back. 

Oh,  pleasant  and  sweet  it  sounded,  borne  on 
the  morning  air, 

For  it  heralded  fifty  soldiers,  with  gallant  De 
la  Monniere. 

And  when  he  beheld  the  maiden,  the  soldier  of 

Carignan, 
And  looked  on  the  little  garrison  that  fought 

the  red  Iroquois 


12  Madeleine  Vercheres 

And  held  their  own  in  the  battle,  for  six  long 
weary  days, 

He  stood  for  a  moment  speechless,  and  mar- 
velled at  woman's  ways. 

Then  he  beckoned  the  men  behind  him,  and 

steadily  they  advance 
And  with  carabines   uplifted  the  veterans   of 

France 
Saluted  the  brave  young  Captain    so  timidly 

standing  there, 
And  they  fired  a  volley  in  honor  of  Madeleine 

Vercheres. 

And  this,  my  dear,  is  the  story  of  the  maiden 

Madeleine. 
God  grant  that  we  in  Canada  may  never  see 

again 
Such  cruel  wars  and  massacre,  in  waking  or  in 

dream, 
As  our  fathers  and  mothers  saw,  my  child,  in 

the  days  of  the  old  regime! 


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